


The One Day Owen's in Charge

by DinoDina



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Aliens, Creme Brulee, F/M, Gen, M/M, snow monster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 13:48:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17245361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinoDina/pseuds/DinoDina
Summary: Owen's in charge. Nothing's going to happen, right? He sure as hell hopes so, because the last thing Owen wants to do is work.





	The One Day Owen's in Charge

Owen looked up from the alien autopsy he was performing at the same time as Jack shouted “You’re in charge!” and rushed from his office and out of the Hub.

Well. That was new.

“Harkness!” he called belatedly, then sighed. It figured that the cog door was already closed. Ridiculous. Owen shook his head, wanting to reach up and wipe his forehead; he was sure he was sweating from the drama of Jack’s exit. With his hands covered in alien slime, however, Owen settled for grumbling under his breath as he finished up the autopsy. 

“What was that?” Gwen was already asking. As if he knew better than she did.

“I’m not sure,” Tosh said unnecessarily.

Owen rolled his eyes. “Nothing new there.” 

He rolled off his gloves and covered the alien with a sheet, then washed his hands and wandered up to the main Hub, where Gwen had gotten out her phone in an attempt to call Jack.

“Ianto would know where he is,” Gwen said, hovering over her phone. “Where is he?”

“Not in yet,” Tosh said, and _that_ was odd.

Owen was about to ask why—no one told him anything, apparently: first Ianto, then Jack running out on them—when his own phone rang. He tried not to throw Gwen a smug look—but he threw it anyway, because he was a smug twat and she knew it—and answered.

“Jack, you better have had a good—” 

_“Ianto’s sick.”_

“Oh.” Owen instantly stood straighter. That, he supposed, was a bloody good reason to run out of his office like a maniac… at least for Jack. “What’s wrong with him?”

_“Stomach bug or something. Maybe some bad pizza. He’s fine. So he says. And I guess I’m inclined to agree with him. All I’m calling to say is that we won’t be in today, so you’re in charge. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”_

He rung off without another word, and Owen turned back to Tosh and Gwen, who had clearly been trying to eavesdrop.

“Ianto’s sick,” he reported. “Food poisoning. Jack’s playing nursemaid or something. Frankly, I don’t want to know, as long as he’s out of our hair.”

“That explains the exit,” Gwen sighed.

Owen nodded. They’d all seen the not-so-subtle looks Jack and Ianto threw each other in the middle of the day, the not-so-casual touches whenever they were near each other; it was no surprise that Jack was worried—and as Ianto had a habit of understating his condition, Owen suspected that he’d called Jack to ask for a day off, causing the hurried exit. They were probably cuddling right now, or doing something equally sappy.

“Right.” Owen put his phone back in his pocket. “Business as usual, then?”

Tosh turned back to her monitor, and so did Gwen, albeit more reluctantly. Owen stalked back to his own desk; if any aliens decided to visit that day, there would be hell to pay. He could ask Tosh, actually, and the handy Rift Predictor Program at her desk. But that would involve getting up, and Owen had no plans to do that.

He opened a new tab on his computer and began playing the game he’d paused yesterday when he’d had to attend to a visiting Venutian. He had a record to beat.

But seventeen failed attempts later, Owen had to concede that he was due a break. He leaned back in his chair, balancing on just this side of danger. “Hey, Tosh!”

She heaved an audible sigh. “Yes?”

“What’s the Rift looking like today?”

She muttered something under her breath—Owen knew exactly what she was saying, and felt slightly bad for snapping—but turned around and reported: “All quiet.”

“Good.” Owen swiveled around in his chair a few times. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

 As Second in Command—acting First, with Jack gone, and nowhere near as happy for the responsibility as he made himself out to be—Owen decreed the workday to end early. With nothing to do and their source of coffee gone, he lead the way out of the Hub, making sure that the machinery was powered down and the Weevils and Myfanwy were fed.

Owen watched Gwen try not to shiver in the autumn air. She, like him, was wearing just a jean jacket—given that they were often running after aliens and were farther inland, it was usually fine—but she, unlike him, was alive. Tosh, by his side, was buttoning up her sensible leather jacket.

“Right.” Owen clapped his hands together. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to take advantage of the early night—which you can thank me for later—and head over somewhere. Who wants to go for drinks?”

“We’re not going to a club,” Gwen said quickly.

“I’m good with a pub.”

“Exactly,” Owen said, markedly looking at Tosh. “Thoughts?”

Gwen looked uncomfortable at the idea of going to a pub; by the looks she was trying to throw Tosh, Owen supposed it had to do with his not-quite-alive condition. Oh, well. He’d watch her squirm, and Tosh—well, he wouldn’t watch her squirm, but try to act as if nothing was different, which was exponentially better. Though he _did_ feel bad for her; it seemed that she was one of those people who felt awkward eating when no one else was.

“Sure.” Gwen grinned; she’d obviously given up on voicing her concern. “Rhys doesn’t get back until nine tonight.”

“Oh, to be married,” Owen said under his breath, knowing by the eyeroll sent his way that Tosh had heard.

“Where to?” Tosh asked.

Owen thought for a minute. “Maybe somewhere new?”

They had a Torchwood local, as well as their own locals, so they had a look around. Owen was about to suggest that Tosh look something up when Gwen pointed, nearly hitting him.

“Oi, watch it!”

“Sorry,” Gwen said quickly. “But look! I know that pub—well, I don’t _know_ it, but Rhys told me that Banana Boat said that his sister’s neighbor’s cousin’s babysitter’s brother’s coworker said it’s good. They serve crème brulee.”

“Crème brulee?” Owen snorted. “Who the fuck serves crème brulee at a pub?”

“ _They_ do, apparently,” Tosh said. “But I don’t see anything wrong with it. Besides, it’s not as if you’re going to have to eat it.”

Owen nodded and offered her his arm, noting amusedly that Gwen was gaping at Tosh and throwing him a look of pity. She meant well, he knew—just as she meant well when she remembered exactly who had recommended the pub—but it was fun to see her not know how to deal with her compassion.

The pub was loud and crowded, with low tables and chairs and even lower booths; they piled awkwardly into one, Tosh near the wall and Owen in between her and Gwen. Gwen asked for crème brulees as Owen noted the fact that the seating had forced them to all face the same way. Weird. Almost as weird as a pub serving crème brulee and Gwen forgetting to order drinks.

“This is _pub_ ,” he reminded her.

Tosh snickered.

Gwen had the decency to look ashamed. “I’ll get them.”

It was Owen’s turn to snicker as she hurried away without asking what they—well, Tosh—wanted. In her defense, they’d all gone out together before, but Owen, as resident cantankerous bastard and overall twat, had a reputation to maintain.

He pointed to a pool table on the other end of the pub. “I’d bet you could obliterate her.”

“It’s all maths.” Tosh grinned. “I’d obliterate everyone.”

Owen was stopped from responding by Gwen’s return and the appearance of a waitress behind her. She was balancing a tray and waiting for Gwen to sit—who did so with an apologetic grimace—then distributing the crème brulees and leaving.

Owen picked up his fork and poked the dessert in front of him; it was unlike any crème brulee he’d ever seen before, yellow and rising out of the inappropriately deep dish it was set in. It looked oddly wet. Owen glanced over and Tosh and Gwen: theirs looked no better.

“It looks like soufflé.” Owen hadn’t been so disgusted since he overheard Jack and Ianto discussing the purchase of a new stopwatch.

“Is it cooked?” Tosh wondered, leaning forward to look at Gwen’s.

“Maybe?” But Gwen didn’t look like she believed it.

“It’s disgusting.” Owen’s lips curled.

Tosh elbowed him. “Not so loud!”

“Well, it is! I’m not eating this, are you?”

“You weren’t going to eat it in the first place.”

Owen grinned. He was glad she wasn’t awkward about it—the fact that she always worded statements about him being dead with such normality was so much better than Gwen’s discomfort and sympathy and Jack’s overwhelming guilt.

Gwen still looked disturbed—not that Owen could blame her—staring at her crème brulee as if it was going to suddenly become better. That, or turn out to be an alien and attack her. At last she took a breath and stood up. “I’m going to see if they can fix it. Maybe they just forgot to flambee it or something.”

Owen exchanged a look with Tosh; the crème brulee was beyond saving.

Owen opened his mouth to comment on that at the same moment as a crack appeared in the wall Tosh was leaning her left side against. Owen looked at her; she looked back; the concrete wall gave way with a crash.

_It’s a yeti!_ Owen realized at the same moment that he realized he should say something useful, like ‘We need weapons’ or ‘For god’s sake, get out of the way’; at the same moment, his eyes met Tosh’s and filled with another realization. The yeti had grabbed her.

“Tosh!” Owen yelled and reached out for her.

Too late. The yeti was moving fast out of sight and Gwen was nowhere to be seen; Cardiff’s pub-goers were much too used to random aliens to properly react.

Owen jumped over the awkwardly-placed table and ran towards the exit. His gun was tucked into his jeans and the yeti had left a frozen path behind it. If it had hurt Tosh… Owen generally considered himself a prat, but if someone had hurt his teammate, his friend, his—well, _that_ ship had long ago sailed, but he was fine with his and Tosh’s newfound friendship and understanding. More than fine with it: he hadn’t been this close to anyone in years.

Several streets later, Owen was regretting his decision to run. Not that he was tired—he couldn’t be—but he couldn’t afford to be slow, and he was starting to realize that maybe it would have been smarter to commandeer a vehicle. He didn’t know if the undead could fall victim to overuse injuries, either, and he wasn’t interested in finding out.

“Come on,” he growled to the frozen trail, willing it to end.

And it did.

“Huh.”

Owen turned right and left and—there! A snowbank in a private garden—the owners were inside, good riddance, probably knowing to stay clear of aliens—and Tosh was lying in it. Owen raised his gun and approached her, not calling her name lest the he attract the yeti’s attention. Seeing no danger, he reached down to check her pulse.

“It’s over there.”

Owen sharply turned his head to where Tosh was pointing, gun at the ready. But the yeti was down, even less conscious than Tosh.

He knelt next to her in the snow and helped her sit up. “You alright? What happened?”

“Knocked it out.” Tosh leaned into him and Owen put an arm around her. She was cold, then, possibly mildly hypothermic, but Owen couldn’t be sure as he was unable to properly check her over. He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

“I need to look you over at the Hub. Let me call a cab.” He wasn’t even able to take care of her, now, unable to feel anything. Keeping one arm around her, Owen dialed and waited for a response, focused on keeping his breakdown at bay until he was no longer working. “Three minutes,” he said to Tosh at last, then gestured to the unconscious yeti. “Think we can convince the driver it’s a very drunk mate of ours?”

Tosh laughed. “They’ve seen stranger.”

* * *

In the end, the only new addition to the Hub was the yeti—though Gwen vehemently defended her request to seize the odd crème brulee and test it for alien substances. 

“Paperwork,” Owen said to her upon the request, pulling a face. He knew too well how cumbersome it was to conduct those tests when they weren’t part of a primary Rift investigation. “Ask Jack tomorrow.”

With that, Owen once again led them all out of the Hub, and considered it a good end to his leadership: alien caught, Tosh alright, and Gwen only mildly annoyed with him.

He said as much to Jack and a still slightly green Ianto the next day when they came in about an hour before lunch, before going to his desk and his normal duties.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and Happy New Year! :D


End file.
